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Floating Mirrors

A slippery blanket seals my skin

from a space beyond quivering reflections,

a place of floating mirrors and dreamy cures.

From behind crashing waves and darkened caves

with walls of granite and floors of black paste.

Motion has me like the ocean that guides me.

Many secrets Iay in this form,

my end sometimes a dark decomposing corpse.

My moods are bare harbouring free endless thoughts.

In a rage of temper, I conclude what you began.

A long silence follows knowing newness will be born.

Today I carry life and tomorrow I honour death.

A place with no doors yet completely bound

in an unending ride through time channels.

I am never prisoner yet enslaved by nature

and sometimes made hot by its fiery gaze.

I am the blood of the earth and tears of the sky.

These two things they cannot deny.

I write from a hollow of bloating shadows.

Seen through by every one of them as they flirtingly pass by fallow.

The whispering tingle along your brow in the heat of August nights,

That icing glaze down your shin in the cool of the January phase.

Have you considered the leaves as they turn brown in autumn’s craze?

They are all symbolic of my impetuous ways.

Come, befriend the citizen of the unending glass soil.

Wander through me, feel your soul uncoil.

My resolve is simple and time echoes my toil.

From a place of floating mirrors and lucid repetition,

I dare you to look.

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